There be some sports are painful, and their labor delight in them sets off. some kinds of baseness, are nobly undergone, and most poor matters point to rich ends. This my mean task would be as heavy to me, as odious, but the mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead, and makes my labors pleasures. she is ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbèd, and he’s composed of harshness. I must remove some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, upon a sore injunction. My sweet mistress weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness had never like executor. I forget but these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labors, most busy least when I do it.
Alas, now pray you, work not so hard. I would the lightning had burnt those logs that you are enjoined to pile! Pray set it down, and rest you. When this burns 'Twill weep for having wearied you, my father is hard at study, pray now rest yourself, he's safe for these three hours.
If you’ll sit down I’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that, I’ll carry it to the pile.
O most dear mistress, The sun will set before I shall discharge what I must strive to do.
No, precious creature, I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, than you should such dishonor undergo, while I sit lazy by.
It would become me as well as it does you,and I should do it with much more ease, for my good will is to it, and yours it is against.
Poor worm thou art infected, This visitation shows it.